Sigmund, I tink I found dat reason

I can't stop eating!

     I have an addiction to stuff going in my mouth. (Clean up your minds, people!)
     Yes, we have fresh fruits and vegetables to nibble on.  (on which to nibble, to be correct)
     So why have I attacked a Canadian chicken, a delicious molded milk chocolate filled with Canadian Skittles, which are like M and Ms in the US.  This poor Easter treat, brought all the way from Canada by Emily and John, has sat on the counter, unmolested (we are thinking dirty, aren't we?) until last night when I savaged it, ruthlessly.  Yes, I had chocolate smeared all over my mouth, lips and fingers....and yes, it tasted good.  Now that I think of it, it might even have been a rabbit, except there was an egg inside it...so it must have been a chicken.  Unless Canadian rabbits lay eggs.
     Pish posh to the fresh oranges and cherries.
     Faw to the grapes and apples.
     Really, what better taste is there than milk chocolate, made with real milk?  Wash it down with a graham cracker and you have half a s'more, actually the best half.
     And I did have strawberries...with a little short bread, but no whip cream because I finished that off last night.
     Phewey to the freshly sliced pineapple, for which I nearly cut my thumb off while coring, that is now sitting in the fridge, next to where the whip cream was.
     I once asked an esteemed psychologist (TC, for those who know him) and he said I eat because deep down inside I am unhappy about something.  He said I need to discover that inner unhappiness.
     I found it!  I am unhappy because I am fat.
     So...to assuage my unhappiness, I eat.  Because I eat, I don't lose weight.  Because I don't lose weight, I eat even more.
     I'm like a freaken' example of perpetual motion!  Or a giant rock rolling down a hill that can only stop rolling by slowing down, but when it rolls it goes faster and faster and faster.
     I have been drinking so much water, I slosh.  I also drink tea.  That makes me slosh and go to the bathroom more.  And 66 year old men don't need more water to hit the can, we have prostates....they make us go enough without help.
     So here I am, battling two addictions......snacking and spider solitaire.
     I need help.
     No, not mental....I can't get the new bag of pretzels open, dammit!